


The Best of Canada

by sandarenu



Category: Politics RPF
Genre: Cannabis, M/M, Smoking, pls don't put me on a hit list
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 01:25:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5271341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandarenu/pseuds/sandarenu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canada legalizes weed, and a few things happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best of Canada

**Author's Note:**

> None of this is real. I just saw that photo of them at the APEC summit and got the idea in my head and thought it would be hilarious to write it, so I did. This is COMPLETELY fictional.

One of the side effects of legalizing marijuana is that apparently, industry (pot) heads are very fucking thankful to you for it.

“We really can’t accept these, Sir”, his chief-of-staff tells him, a bit panicked. Dream-Weed wants to send the Prime Minister’s Office a rather large box of their newly packaged pot before it heads to their stores countrywide. So does their biggest competitor, Mary J Canada. It’s a few thousand Canadian dollars worth of legal drugs, presented as a gift to the Prime Minister who finally legalized pot.

Justin laughs about it over breakfast. Too much gratitude from business leaders was a nice problem for the Prime Minister to have. In the end they decide it’d be untoward to accept it. He’d never hear the end of it from the Conservatives, and he doesn’t want it to dog him around in the media for the months ahead. Maybe just an ounce or two, he thinks to himself privately.

He’s so tickled by the gesture that he mentions it to the President of the United States during their next phone call.

“Wait, what?” Barack asks, his amusement obvious through the clear, very secret phone line.  
“A few kilos of really well refined, high quality cannabis, yes.”

Barack laughs and then can’t seem to stop himself.

“Justin, your country is just, magical. I mean, I can’t believe, first of all, I can’t believe you’re legalizing pot as of next Monday. And second of all, you having to reject a box of weed, only in Canada, man. I’m just trying to imagine that sitting in a store room next to, like, a tea set from, from-“  
“From the Queen of England? I know, right?”

They both dissolve into fits of laughter.

Once they calm down, Justin speaks again.

“Well, it’s a good problem to have, you know? Compared to ISIL, or an oil spill. Or the conservatives telling me I’m trying to start a freaking class war.”  
“Oh I hear you. I wish I had business leaders offering me up boxes of the good stuff instead of complaints about their taxes.”  
“Do you want them to be?” Justin’s asking before he’s thought the implications through.  
“What?”

Never let it be said that Prime Minister Justin Trudeau was the type to back down.

“Do you- d’you wanna be offered some of the good stuff? Because-”  
“Justin-, you do know that I’m the president of the United States, and you’re the Prime Minister of-"  
“It’ll be legal in Canada by Monday-"  
“I can’t just catch a plane and come smoke a bowl with you, man-"  
“We have that state visit in a few weeks don’t we?"

The long pause at the other end of the line instead of a firm ‘No’ is all the confirmation Justin needs.

 

They plan it really carefully. It’s weird. For the most powerful man in the world, Barack sounds giddy, almost nervous when he’s talking about it. Justin reckons he’s a pretty wound up guy from all the shit he has to deal with. Hell, running Canada was a twenty-four hour job and the grey hairs popping up on his scalp were proof of it. Running the United States must be a hell of an ordeal.

It would be like this. They’d be having a joint press conference about emissions targets and the new trade deal and then a state dinner. There’d be a few hours after that to socialize. Rideau Cottage had enough unused rooms that would be perfect for the occasion.

Once the logistics are figured out, they don’t talk about it until the day.

It’s after a long night and the guests are leaving one by one when they excuse themselves for a friendly chat. Keep the motorcade on standby, Barack tells his staff.

They head to one of the guest apartments on the third floor and Justin locks the door behind him, smiling conspiringly at his companion. He heads to the mantel and pulls out a lighter and a reasonably sized joint from a drawer.

“How’d you get that in?”  
Justin shrugs.  
“It’s been legal for a month. Got one of my security to buy it for me a few days ago. She’s very discrete.”  
He holds it and the lighter at Barack.  
“Wanna do the honours?”  
“You know, I really shouldn’t be.”  
“Dude, trust me.”  
And strangely, though they’ve only really known each other for a few months, and even though in a few short months Barack Obama would be out of office, it feels like they’ve been lifelong friends. They would be lifelong friends, Justin avows to himself.

“Alright, well, let’s do this.”  
Barack giggles a bit, and Justin realises the President of the United States is a bit nervous. He holds the joint against Barack’s lips. He parts his lips to accept and Justin lights it up. Barack’s fingers come up to grab the roll-up. He inhales and then lets out a deep breath.

To his credit, he doesn’t cough.  
“This is pretty good”, he says, impressed, after a few seconds of silence.  
“Well, I don’t wanna brag, but you know. It’s the best in North America.”  
“Don’t push it.”  
“Hey. Hydroponic plants and everything.”  
“You got your own, or are we sharing this one?”  
“Ah, I didn’t want the both of us to get completely baked, so yeah, we’re sharing.”  
Barack chuckles in agreement, and Justin accepts the joint back and pulls.  
It hits them pretty quickly. Justin hasn’t smoked weed in years. His threshold’s probably gone to shit. He doesn’t know how long it’s been for the President, and he’s curious, so he asks.

“Just wondering. When was the last time, you, you-“

Barack takes the joint back, and pulls a drag off the joint elegantly.

“Smoked weed with a good looking guy? Some time in the 90s, I think.”

Dammit. He was smooth.  
Justin knows he’s blushing, right at that moment.

They exchange the joint between them, their breaths slowly evening out, talking about the happenings of the day and the trade deal they would sign in the morning. Justin tries to coerce the President into a trip to BC after his term is up in a few months. Barack says thanks, he’ll think about it, but wouldn't it get annoying hanging out with an unemployed guy while he’s still heading the government of Canada? They laugh.  
And soon the spliff is a little stub in Justin’s hand.

“Don’t think this is going to last another hit, Monsieur.”  
“Well, you’re welcome to it, Trudeau” Barack replied, gracious as always.  
“Nah, let’s just shotgun it”, Justin suggests jokingly and winks.

Barack laughs, and then-  
“Okay.”

Oh.

Maybe it’s the pot finally hitting him, but Justin’s brain isn’t coming up with the reasons why he shouldn’t. He’d always been an affectionate guy, eager to dive into crowds and gaining his energy by making people love him. His boundaries of physical affection were already a bit muddled. Fuck it. They were 21st century men, weren’t they?

He looks down and drags from the little stub, and scatters what’s left into the fireplace so it can disintegrate into ashes. He holds his breathe in carefully. When he looks up, Barack’s a few steps closer and directly in front of his face, looking at him intensely. The next second Justin opens his mouth, and the President of the United States of America kisses him.

Justin closes his eyes.

The president seals his lips over his, a rough ‘O’, and breathes the residual smoke in. Their lips part a centimetre. For a moment they’re breathing each other’s air, noses touching.

“That’s the last of it”, Barack whispers, his lips moving against Justin’s.  
“Yeah.”  
He doesn’t really waste time thinking. He opens his lips by instinct, and in a second Barack’s angling his head just so to kiss him back. Justin’s hands grab onto the lapels of the President’s suit jacket, and he reels him in.

Justin knows he’s a good kisser. Those awkward years of teenagehood had paid off and made him appreciate how little good looks and a famous name counted for if you wanted to impress romantic partners for longer than the first date.

He now uses his height to advantage and turns his mouth insistent on Barack’s, slipping his tongue between his lips. The President lets out a sigh and lets him in even deeper.

And Justin is still, despite a decade in politics, somewhat of a poet. He wonders what kind of picture they make now, kissing like a couple of teenagers as they lean against the fireplace mantel. He wishes he could see it as well as he can feel it; Barack Obama’s insistent hands on his waist, and the way their suits are creasing between them, and the rash of stubble reddening the delicate skin around their mouths, and the immediacy of it, Barack’s leg between his two, a millimetre closer than before with every second passing.

And the President of the United States is no rookie. He is, right now, all the passion in a larger than life man assaulting Justin’s senses. He tastes like smoke and the lemon cake they had for dessert. And he kisses and kisses until the Prime Minister groans from how intense it is. He feels like the room is collapsing and them expanding, building up to something even grander and more brilliant-

A sharp knock on the door springs them apart.

“Prime Minister Trudeau, President Obama. I’m sorry to interrupt-“

They’re still staring at each other, a little out of breath. Justin wipes his mouth with his sleeve.

“-but there’s been development regarding the NFC-1 case, Sir. The Leader of the Opposition is on television-”

Justin snaps out of Barack’s stare.

“I’ll be out in a minute, thank you.” His voice sounds a bit rough. Not too much, though.

Barack seems to have composed himself in the meantime.

“I suppose I might come visit you, um, sometime after the New Year", he says.  
“You better.”

Barack laughs, his eyes downward. His handsome face contorts into shyness.

“You really messed up my suit,” he says, laughter lacing through his words as he's smoothing his jacket down.

Justin realises then that his own suit is still, somehow, immaculate. Well.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. President.”

He really isn’t. Barack lifts an eyebrow at him and smirks.

It feels like the air between them has shifted when they make eye contact again. But it was not a time for sentimental pausing or deliberating. They were both too busy for it, and the millions of tasks that came with running a country awaited outside.

“See you in the morning for the signing?” Justin asks, softly.  
“Bright and early.”

 

They share a private smile as Justin opens the door.

 

 

They then stride out together, two men with the world on their shoulders.

 

 

.


End file.
